Last night, I sat on the phone with Kim. I’ve only met her twice in my whole life – but she is my rock. We might live 2000 miles apart but it doesn’t matter. She gets me. So she told me to call because she knew something was wrong from our texts. So I did.
And I cried.
I got angry, sad, and rambled on about everything for almost an hour. I vented and told her how unfair this all was, and how lost I felt, and how some days are better and worse than others. I told her how I felt like I should be all better by now, and how stupid that kind of thinking was but I couldn’t get past it. How the shock of what happened and how my whole life changed SO many times the past 6 months still seems incomprehensible.
And she listened, and cried with me. She said that one day, she’d love to see the few pictures I have of Preston and Julian. That I had every right to not be “all better.” And that she still cried over what happened to my babies.
She understood, she remembered, she listened. That was all I needed.